Chapter 4
Perhaps the subtle changes in my behavior had triggered her radar, or maybe Graham's recent physical exhaustion made her anxious about his performance.
She actually used a painfully obvious burner account, disguised as a skincare sales rep, to send me a friend request.
The message read: [Hey girl! Interested in checking out some amazing new skincare lines?]
I stared at the fake profile picture and almost burst out laughing.
Such amateur tricks.
I tapped accept.
She started messaging me casually, pitching fake lotions with a tone that was entirely too enthusiastic.
I replied with brief, polite dismissals. Then, I started posting to my social media stories.
I set the privacy to custom, ensuring the posts were visible to an audience of exactly one person. Kendall.
The first post was a photo of a massive, decadent dinner spread.
The caption read: [My hubby has been working so hard lately, making sure he eats well. A feast made with love, and he cleared his whole plate!]
The second was a candid silhouette of Graham taking a breather during a night run, my hand wiping his forehead with a towel.
The caption read: [Midnight cardio with my love. He's way faster than me, but I'll always be waiting for him at the finish line.]
The third was a close-up of my closet shelf, with the corner of a highly recognizable, premium adult toy box just barely peeking into the frame.
The caption read: [Oops, my special delivery finally arrived. I'm blushing so hard. Can't wait to surprise him when he gets home tonight!]
Every single post was a tactical airstrike.
Right on cue, Graham's overtime schedule exploded. The hours became increasingly absurd, escalating to him staying out entirely all night.
When he did drag himself home, his face carried the hollowed-out exhaustion of severe overindulgence.
The bags under his eyes were bruised purple, yet he possessed an unnatural, jittery energy.
Aside from his usual cologne, he occasionally brought home the lingering scent of cheap massage oils.
Whenever his phone rang and he rushed to grab his coat in a panic, I played my part beautifully.
I showed a flash of perfect disappointment, instantly masked by an understanding smile. "Called back to the office again? Drive safe, don't push yourself too hard.
"I left the beef stew on a warm simmer for you, remember to eat when you get back."
Or, right as his hand hit the doorknob, I would gently tug on his sleeve, dropping my voice to a whisper and blushing furiously. "Um, that new lingerie set I ordered finally came in.
"Do you think you could come home early tonight?"
The sheer conflict between my shy invitations and the immediate need to go pacify an enraged, jealous mistress left him completely frazzled.
I could see the frantic struggle and extreme irritability in his eyes. It was not just the mental drain of juggling two demanding women.
It was the blaring, desperate sirens of a physical body being pushed infinitely past its limits.
The crowning achievement happened on their special day.
It was Graham and Kendall's anniversary.
That afternoon, I uploaded a story visible only to Kendall. It was a sweet, nostalgic throwback photo of Graham and me holding hands.
The caption read: [It's that time of year again! Thank you for always being by my side, honey. I'll be waiting at our favorite spot tonight.]
Earlier that morning, I had already secured Graham's promise to be home for dinner. I told him I had finally mastered a classic Beef Wellington.
I emphasized that it was an incredibly complex dish that took me all day to prepare, and I insisted he had to be home to taste it.
At seven o'clock sharp, Graham walked in. He looked incredibly anxious.
The rich, savory aroma of the baked pastry and beef tenderloin filled the dining room.
I pulled out his chair, served him a thick slice, and looked at him with gentle eyes.
Just as his fork hit the plate, his phone erupted in violent vibrations against the table. It was Kendall.
He glanced at the screen, his face twitching. He declined the call. The phone immediately rang again. He declined it again. It rang a third time.
I paused, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. "What's going on? Is it a work emergency?"
Graham stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "N-No, just a really difficult client."
"Well, you should take it. You can't ignore important business." I said, acting completely supportive.
He swallowed hard, grabbed the phone, and practically sprinted out to the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him.
Our house had excellent soundproofing, but the sheer volume of his panic bled right through the glass.
He muttered, "I know exactly what today is. But I physically can't leave the house right now. Stop acting crazy, will you? What social media post?
"You're seeing things, that's an old photo! Kendall! Hello? Kendall!"
He slowly lowered the phone, his shoulders sagging in absolute defeat. He slid the door open and turned around.
I was sitting perfectly still at the head of the table, holding a silver serving spoon, just quietly staring at him.
His face was a spectacular canvas of deep embarrassment, crushing guilt, and a suffocating, helpless frustration.
"Honey, I…" he started, grasping for an explanation.
I cut him off with a faint smile. "Was that Kendall? She sounded like she really needed you.
"Is today… a special anniversary or something?"
Graham looked as if he had been struck by lightning. His face went bone-white in an instant.
I didn't wait for an answer. I set my spoon down, my voice remaining steady, carrying nothing but a hint of tired patience. "Go on. Don't keep her waiting. I'll save some of the stew for you."
The look on his face in that moment was priceless. There was the panic of being caught, the lingering guilt toward me, and a growing irritation at Kendall's poorly timed demands.